little and broken (but still good)
by Mashpotatoe Queen
Summary: Billy Batson finds himself alone in a crowd after losing Rosa in the quickly moving bustle, and everything is fine, really. It's fine. Except that it's not. It's not, because there's a little voice in his brain that goes, 'Oh no, not again,' even though that's perfectly irrational and obviously not the case here. Obviously. (He maybe sort of panics. Just a little.) (Or a lot.)


**_We are Billy Batson Stans First and People Second. Always remember this._**

**_****WARNINGS****_**

**_Mentions of Child Abandonment and Panic Attacks/Anxiety Attacks_**

**_..._**

_Fine. Everything is fine. _

Billy Batson is standing alone in a busy crowd of adults, all moving and shifting and not paying attention to the fourteen year old kid in their midst, and everything is absolutely, completely, and totally fine.

Really.

_Really. _

It's just-

He had let go of Rosa's hand.

_He had let go. _

Well- not really. Of course. He's basically fifteen years old. He doesn't like- _need _to hold Rosa's hand anymore, or anybody's, really. Except for maybe Darla, but she's a kid, so she doesn't really count.

But he had been following Rosa closely. Had been- right behind her, keeping up with her through the crowd as they bustled through it to meet up with the rest of the family for dinner. He had been brushing his hand on the strap of her purse whenever there was a particularly large clump of people they had to elbow their way through, but it was a _convention _for a reason and there was a whole bunch of really cool panels and he had looked away for _one second _and now Rosa was _gone. _

He can't even call her, because while a phone has been promised and guaranteed for the near future, he still hasn't gotten one yet.

And it's stupid. _Stupid, _because this is a totally different situation and Billy's not a little kid anymore, he's memorized their house address and knows full names and ages of the family members and worse come to worse he has the skills and capability of finding his way back to town by through hitchhiking on subways all by himself-

So yeah, it's stupid.

But for a moment, Billy stands stock still in a river of quickly moving people and feels a sense of familiar dread rise up in his chest as he thinks, _Not again- _

This was supposed to be fun. Rosa said so, laid out the whole thing with this massive grin on her face a couple of months into his stay with the Vasquez's. She was going on and on about how, as the new kid, she wanted to get the chance to know him better, to hang out one on one. It was cheesy and a little over the top but Billy had done his research, had known that the convention was coming for _months _now, and had been planning on going to it anyways, even if he would have used less…. _legal _measures to have sneaked in, and, well-

He thought it might be nice, for a change, if he got to go in the normal way. With a normal older person by his side to sign him in. On a normal outing, like a real family, and so he had suggested it, keeping an eye out to back track or suggest something less expensive if he caught a disapproving look in the older woman's eye, but she had just smiled and nodded with something determined and bright in her gaze instead, and that was that.

And so they had gone. And it _had _been fun. Really fun, actually, funner than Billy had expected by far.

Except-

Except now there's this, Billy alone_ (__abandoned__), _Billy standing in the middle of a crowded auditorium_ (__carnival street)__, _the echoing chatter of speakers and guests bouncing off the high seated walls _(__the carnival music loud and ringing, the smell of churros and cotton candy in his nose, stall vendors shouting and kids cheering and crying and parents making conversation__), _and Rosa _(_ _his m o m__) _lost in all this chaos, nowhere to be found.

_Oh gods, not again- _

His hands spasm, roughly, and he curls them into fists and wishes for his small globe compass to fiddle with, but that's gone now, isn't it, isn't it, he gave it away, gave it away to that woman who was supposed to cherish him and instead let him sit alone and lost and high and dry, she didn't even know what it _was, he's been holding onto it his whole life and she didn't even know- _

She didn't even _hug _him-

Billy breathes a breath that stutters on the way out. This is _fine. _

Except his heartbeat is thundering in his chest, loud and _fast. _Fast, fast, _fast, _and his hands are sweating like crazy and won't stop _jittering _, and really this is fine except all the sound is washed out of his ears replaced by the too loud drumming of his heart and he's just been _standing there _for like, five minutes now, ten minutes now, fifteen minutes now, what the hell, get a grip, get a grip, _get a grip- _

He's supposed to be a superhero and he's just- frozen.

He's frozen.

"Hey, kid, are you alright?"

Billy blinks, refocuses on the world around him, at the police badge staring him right in the face, shiny and gold and in hyper focused detail for some reason. He blinks, slowly looks up to meet the concerned officer's gaze, and then blinks again.

_Focus, _he thinks distantly, and wipes trembling sweaty fingers on his pants before jamming them in his pockets.

_This is fine, _he thinks, but when he speaks his own voice seems like it is coming from somewhere very far away.

"I need help finding my family," he says, words falling from numb lips, fingers still spasming jerkily in his pockets, heartbeat still so loud and fast in his ears he can't even hear the woman's response.

But his feet follow on their own accord when the officer wraps a gentle, hesitant arm around his shoulders and starts guiding him away, and he responds on autopilot to all of the questions directed at him.

_(Billy Batson, fourteen. Foster-Mom: Rosa Vazquez. He's been living with her for two months and seventeen days and everything is fine, he's totally fine, there's nothing to worry about, am I talking too fast? So sorry 'bout that I'll slow down, promise, promise, promise-) _

He's pretty sure the lady doesn't believe him, because she gets him set up on top of the police cruiser and then puts a shock blanket on him while she heads off to make some calls and Billy's too _hot _not too cold- he's sweating up a _storm _\- but his shaking, jerking fingers come up and tug the edges of the thing closer on their own accord and his heartbeat is just so _loud. _

Billy's not out of breath, but he feels like he's run a marathon, and the world has dissolved of everything except his laser focus vision on the officer, on what's going on, because he knows this is totally stupid but what if _Rosa doesn't come. _

Some small dark part of him whispers _well, you survived the first time, _and Billy's fists clench so tightly over the shock blanket he's pretty sure his nails break skin.

He wonders if it's too late to take a solemn vow to never step foot into another large crowd ever again. He's pretty sure it is, but the option is sounding more and more appealing every time he turns it over in his mind.

The minutes stretch like hours. Billy keeps his eyes closed and focuses on trying to keep his heartbeat at a somewhat manageable speed. This is not going very well, and the longer he sits the harder his hands tremble, until they're basically vibrating and Billy has to stuff them underneath his thighs.

And finally, _finally, _just when he's getting really desperate and about to do something pretty drastic, like taking off into the crowds yelling for Rosa, the woman of the hour appears.

She looks rushed, and frantic, and when her eyes land on Billy her whole body just - _slumps _with relief. And Billy should feel guilty that he worried her but he's far too busy feeling kind of giddy that she cared enough to get so worried in the first place.

And it's stupid, stupid, because he's fourteen and he has more than enough years under his belt to deal with this kind of thing without completely falling apart, because _of course _Rosa was gonna show up, she has a legal contracted responsibility for him, because he's literally just been panicking for like an hour now over nothing and its ridiculous and kind of pathetic and-

And-

It's stupid, but Billy spots Rosa and just- immediately, like a puppet pulled up on strings, he's up and standing and _moving. _He crashes into her before she's probably ready, because she stumbles backwards before coming back to balance and hugging back just as fiercely, and its awkward but it's _real _. And Billy's not much of a hugger but he his crazy monkey brain is screaming for the security of physical contact and he's too emotionally drained and physically exhausted from what felt like an hour long adrenaline rush to resist in any shape, way, form, or fashion, so he doesn't step back immediately afterwards.

(_This is how it should have ended, last time, _he thinks, and it's true. But life isn't fair like that. It never has been and never will be. Sometimes, the bad guys win. Sometimes, moms don't love their kids. Sometimes, there's nothing you can do about it.)

Billy breathes hot air, trapped between Rosa's neck and shoulder. It's an awkward position because he's basically as tall as she is, but he doesn't _care, _he just crams himself in as close as he can and curls his fingers into the back of her jacket so they won't give away their trembling.

"_Hey, conejito_," she murmurs, "_you're okay, I got you, you're okay." _

Billy holds on tighter, breathes a harsh breath, and forces his white knuckled grip to let go.

They go home, after that. Drive back in the 'little minibus of chaos' as Victor so often calls it, and they don't talk and they don't put on the radio, and Billy stares out the window and fidgets with the freys of his jeans, feeling tired and drained and panicky for no real reason.

But when they get out of the car, Rosa grabs his hand and squeezes it tight, smiles a little watery but mostly bright, and Billy finds his second or fourth wind and manages to smile back.

And Billy accepts a hug from Darla and a half hearted wave from Eugene and Pedro's welcoming grunt. He waves aside Victor's concerned eyebrows and Mary's questioning looks and then goes up to his room, where he lets Freddy rant about Superman for fifteen minutes straight without interruption because his words feel limited, right now, as if he says too many no more will come out, and it's not ideal but it's manageable.

Not ideal but manageable. It sounds like an autobiography of his entire existence.

Except-

Except they have lasagna for dinner tonight, and Mary makes sure to casually touch him several times throughout the meal, her eyes settling on him too wise and too sincere, making him feel exposed and pulled open, but almost in a good way. Everyone follows her lead, and he's pretty sure another day the physical contact would drive him crazy, but today it's just what Billy needs.

And they watch a movie later, all of them crammed too close on the couch, and at some point or another Darla falls asleep with her mouth hanging wide open and at another point or another Eugene joins her, despite his protests that he is absolutely _not tired. _

(Billy might sort of maybe kind of fall asleep too, drifting in and out of focus with his legs thrown up over Freddy's lap and his head conked out on Victor's shoulder, but he would deny it later if asked.)

And later, later, he's curled up under the covers, eyes feeling dry and scratchy with want of sleep, and the door creaks open. He smells Rosa's perfume as the woman creeps closer, and pretends to be asleep when she brushes a hand through his hair, and the night is quiet but Freddy's snores are constant and almost soothing, and Billy breathes deep and then lets it all go.

He smiles into his pillow, where no one else will see it, and it's something small and maybe a little fragile, but definitely his own.

_This is fine, _his brain registers, somewhere far away.

And this time, he believes it.

**...**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
